


The American

by duchess_of_brighton



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Badass, Cold War, Comfort Sex, Escape, F/M, Government Agencies, Intrigue, Jim "Chief" Hopper Being Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper Lives, Law Enforcement, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Russia, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess_of_brighton/pseuds/duchess_of_brighton
Summary: After Hawkins lab is destroyed, Hopper gets a visit at the police station from a government agent unlike all the others. A year later, a prisoner in Russia, he sees her again...My speculative take on how Hopper gets out of Russia, with a bit of flirting, smut, and badass secret agent on the side.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a new standalone Hopper fic. I was watching that S4 trailer again and it got me thinking...
> 
> Part two coming soon!

Chief Jim Hopper was beyond exhausted. So tired that the cluttered surface of his desk was starting to look appealing as a place to lay his head down. He'd been awake for almost thirty six hours, thanks to flu taking out Powell and Callahan, and a long distance trucker falling asleep at the wheel and jackknifing to block the road with a cargo of petrochemicals. Flo had reluctantly kept him fuelled with caffeine and donuts, but she'd gone home hours ago, and now he was running on fumes. 

"Hello! Anybody in there?" It was a woman's voice, coming from out by the front desk, and Hopper groaned as he hauled himself to his feet.  
"Yeah, gimme a second." He called out.  
"Looking for the Chief." The voice was definitely getting closer, and before he made it to the door of his office, she appeared.  
Heavy boots, tight jeans, a leather biker jacket open over a black t-shirt, and dark hair twisted up into a knot on top of her head. All of which he registered with the cop part of his brain. Then there was the length of her legs, the curves of her body, and the fullness of her lips. He registered those with a totally different part of his brain.  
"You've found him." He told her, sinking back into his chair.  
She leaned on the door jamb. "Excellent. I've been told you're the man to talk to about what happened at the Hawkins lab."

He sighed with frustration, and just a little disappointment, "I don't talk to journalists. Especially not at midnight."  
She glanced at her watch, "23:45, and I'm not a journalist."  
"Look, lady, I'm too tired to play games. So tell me who you are and what you want, or get lost."  
"Lady?" She smirked, "Okay then, Chief. I work for the government, and you can call me O'Hara." She held up an ID, then threw it onto his desk with a flick of her wrist, "And I need to pick your brains about Hawkins lab for reasons I can't tell you."  
"Not good enough." He said bluntly. Something about her attitude was pissing him off, and not just because he was tired and she was hot. He picked up the ID and studied it. It looked genuine enough, but carried no agency designation. Still, he could guess. "The FBI was crawling all over here a few months ago, you can just go read your own files." He sat back down at his desk and turned his attention to one of the open case files laying in front of him. 

"Wow, okay. Not a fan of the Bureau." She sauntered across the room and perched on the edge of his desk. "Neither am I, as it happens. Don't like their ill fitting suits."  
Despite himself, Hopper let out a snort of agreement.  
"Long day, huh?" She asked, nodding towards the three half drunk cups of coffee littering his desk.  
"Long two days." He told her, "Which is why I'm not in the mood for game playing federal agents right now."  
"Fair enough. But I'm really not a federal agent."  
"Not what your ID says." He could feel her eyes on him, and had to steel himself not to look up from his files.  
"How about I buy you a drink to apologise for annoying you, and then you can give me what I need and we can call it a day?" She suggested.  
"Or you can just get out of my station and I can go get some sleep." He countered.  
"Look, Chief, we both know I'm not going to do that." Her tone had grown more serious, and something about it made him finally look up at her. She looked tired, he realised. Maybe even more tired than he was. "I can't tell you much," She continued, "But I can tell you that I'm on the trail of some very bad people, and if they get their way, what happened at Hawkins lab will probably happen again."  
Hopper rubbed his eyes, and tried to muster a smile. He reached into the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch. "How about that drink, then?"

The woman whose name was almost definitely not O'Hara sipped her scotch slowly as he answered her questions as best he could. It helped that she already knew most of the classified details that had never made it into the press, creatures from the upside down and all. The one thing she didn't mention was Eleven, and he was damned if he was going to say a word about his adopted daughter if he didn't have to. It was an hour or so before she closed her notebook and downed the rest of her third measure of scotch.  
"Thanks, Chief."  
"You got what you need?"  
"No, but that's not a reflection on you." She sighed, "I'm leaving the country tomorrow, and I haven't slept in a long time. I know this is asking a lot, but you got anywhere I can bunk down for the night?"  
He chuckled slightly, "Which branch of the service were you in?"  
She startled just a fraction, but he saw it. Then she grinned, "You caught me. Choice of words?"  
"Yeah, and you remind me of some of the spooks in 'Nam." He didn't normally talk about the war, but he was pretty sure she'd been in similar situations, so it didn't matter so much.  
"I guess it's safe to say Military Intelligence."  
He gave a low whistle, "As a woman? No wonder you got balls."  
She laughed, "Thanks, I think. Anyway, about that bunk?"

As he shouldered open the door of the very seldom used bunk room at the back of the station, Hopper wondered when it had last been cleaned. Of course he shouldn't have worried, as Flo had obviously made sure it wasn't neglected. The two army cots were made up with blankets and thin pillows, and the floor was free of dust.  
"Right now, this looks like a little slice of heaven." O'Hara shrugged off her jacket and sat on the nearest cot to pull off her boots. "You sleeping?"  
He eyed the other cot with longing, "Would you mind?"  
"You snore?"  
"Yeah." He admitted.  
"Great, that means you can't give me shit if I do. Bunk's all yours."  
She shimmied out of her jeans, and Hopper almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of long bare legs disappearing into black panties. To his mingled relief and disappointment, she pulled back the blankets without removing any more clothing, and climbed in. He hastily took off his shoes and flipped off the light before laying down on the other bunk. There was a glass panel above the door that let in light from the corridor, and he could just make out her huddled form a couple of feet away from him. He thought about saying something, but decided against it, letting his eyes crash shut and his body descend into desperately needed sleep instead.

The sound woke him bolt upright, but it took him a second to realise what it was. The woman was thrashing on her cot, shouting something incoherent, fighting the blanket tangled around her legs.  
"Hey!" He tried, "O'Hara!" His words had no effect, so he carefully reached across and touched one flailing arm. "Wake up!"  
She flung her other arm up, shielding her face, "Nooooo!" Her cry was full of anguish.  
Hopper rolled to his feet and stood over her, taking a breath before grabbing her wrists with his hands in one smooth move. "Soldier!" He snapped, in as commanding a tone as he could manage, "Enough!"  
Her movements stilled, and to his relief he saw her eyes open.  
"What happened?" She croaked.  
"You had a nightmare."  
Judging by her earlier behaviour, he expected a swift deflection of some kind, but to his shock she burst into tears instead. And against his better judgement, he dropped to the edge of her cot and wrapped his arms around her. 

She clung to him, sobbing, and he gathered her as tight into his embrace as he could. He gritted his teeth and stared at the wall, trying not be affected by all of the soft skin he could feel, and the fact that she was only wearing a tank top and panties. After a few minutes her crying slowed, and she loosened her grip on him.  
"Fuck." Her voice was raspy, "Sorry. Jesus." She pulled away a little, sitting up, "Most unprofessional moment of my life, bar none." She swiped fingers over her cheeks, "Sorry about that."  
He let out a burst of incredulous laughter, "Seriously? That's what you're giving me?"  
"What else do you want?" There was a wariness in her face.  
"What were you dreaming about?"  
"No offence, Chief, but I've known you for all of a few hours, and I appreciate your concern-"  
"You appreciate my concern?" He blew out a long breath. "Well I guess that's alright then."  
"Fuck!" She rubbed her hands over her face, "That's not what I meant. I just-"  
"Cut the shit. I'm a cop, I'm a vet, you think I haven't seen shit to give me nightmares? 

He could see her swallow before she answered, "The creatures, in the... what did you call it? The upside down?"  
"Yeah." He watched her face.  
"The things, that..." She made a gesture with her fingers, like the face of the creature opening.  
"Yeah." Then something occurred to him, "Where'd you see them?"  
"That's classified." She held up her hand to stop him speaking, "I'm not being an asshole. I just really, really, can't tell you that."  
"If there are more labs-" Hopper had a sudden vision of hundreds more children being experimented on.  
"Not here." She said, "Not in the States. I mean, not our government."  
He thought about pushing harder, then he realised she was shaking like a leaf. "Christ, c'mere." He pulled the blanket up and around her shoulder, then pulled her close again.  
"Chief-" She started to protest, but then he felt her relax. "You dream about them?"  
He thought about Barbara, and Bob, and blood and death and terror. "I dream about them."  
"You want to not dream for a while?"  
"Huh?" He looked down at her in confusion, wondering if she was about to offer him drugs, but instead she reached up and pressed her lips to his.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He pulled back, because that's what a good guy would do. But then, would a good guy have even noticed the curves and the legs, and the softness of her skin? And it had been such a goddamn long time since...  
She must have seen his indecision, because instead of backing down, she shifted to her knees, bringing her eyes level with his, and she looked right at him as she kissed him again.  
He cupped the back of her head in his hand, and dived into the kiss, feeling her breasts push against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself onto his lap.  
"Fuck..." He mumbled around the edge of the kiss, and she laughed a little, drawing back for a second.  
"That was the general idea."  
It wasn't a slow, sweet, seduction. It was the undoing of two buttons and a zipper, and the hasty pushing aside of some obstructing cotton, and then he was pushing upwards and she was sliding down, and suddenly he was buried to the hilt inside her hot, slick heat. His fingers sought out her clit, rubbing roughly, because he wasn't going to last long, and while he might not be a good guy, he wasn't a shitty one either.  
"Yes..." She tightened around him, and he groaned, and then he was laying her back on the cot, taking control, driving into her hard as she panted and arched beneath him, and her hand replaced his between her legs, so that he could focus on fucking her into the mattress. And then she was crying out and clenching around his dick, and three strokes later he lost it and collapsed onto his elbows above her as he filled her with his release. 

Hopper had no idea how they both fitted on one cot, but it probably had something to do with the fact that she was almost on top of him, her leg and arm thrown over his body, her head on his shoulder. He kept her secured there by banding his arms around her. They didn't talk, and after a while he knew she was asleep. He tried to stay awake to watch over her in case of more nightmares, but he was too damn tired. 

When he woke up, she was gone. If it hadn't been for the rumpled sheets and the lingering scent of her on his fingers, he would have thought it was all a dream brought on by stress and exhaustion. But then, after straightening up the bunk room and cleaning himself up in the bathroom, he went to his office and found the files he kept locked under his desk in a hidden drawer were gone. She had left a note though.

_Thanks for the intel, Chief. And the rest. Maybe see you in the netherworld some time - here's hoping against it. O'Hara._

He wasn't to know that when he did see her again, it would be half a world away from Hawkins - and not in the upside down, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please feed the writer with kudos or comments!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how much I can conjure up from one teaser trailer, honestly...

Every part of Hopper's body ached, but that was normal now. The first few months, that had been from medical tests and light to moderate torture. Then the Russians had finally accepted that he knew nothing useful and was nobody special, so they drove him out here and put him on a chain gang instead. At the time, he'd been convinced they were going to kill him, so the prison camp had been a relief. Nowadays he wasn't always sure he'd gotten the better option. He'd lost track of the days a long time ago, but he still kept getting up and going on - his whole damn life had been based on following that pattern for too long to quit now.

He lay on a cot made of rusting metal and mouldering canvas, the sleeping bag he was wrapped in inadequate against the cold, even though he still wore all his clothes. He was lucky, they told him, because he had one of the wooden huts rather than a tent, and since the other prisoner who'd been in here with him had died a week ago, he'd had the hut to himself. Strangely, though, he missed the presence of another person, the snore of Grigor's breathing, even the scent of his sweat. They hadn't been able to talk much, but Hopper had picked up enough Russian that with that and hand gestures, they could manage to communicate just a little, even if it was mostly how hungry and exhausted they both were. Being alone was too reminiscent of his time in the first detention centre, and left him too vulnerable to his thoughts. 

He'd taken on the same mental attitude he'd originally adopted to survive Vietnam: don't think about home, don't let emotions in, follow orders and don't ask questions. It had seen him survive that war - and later his daughter's illness and death - and he was damned if he wasn't going to survive this too for as long as he could, even if some days it was almost impossible to resist asking himself why it mattered so much. 

But if he could control his thoughts during waking hours, it was another story at night. Back in Hawkins, his dreams had always been of death and monsters. That happened here, too, but sometimes he dreamed of El or Joyce, and those dreams were a beautiful thing that turned to torture when he woke up - far worse torture than the beatings he'd been given in the early days here in Russia.

It was one of those Hawkins dreams that he was woken from by a shouted order from a guard, a wake up call that came not in the early morning as usual, but several hours before that, when the prison camp was still and heavy with darkness and sleep.   
"Come, American." It was one of the few guards who spoke some English, and the one who was heaviest with the whip. "Very important person to see you."  
Hopper stiffened, even as he obediently wriggled out of his sleeping bag and bent to lace his boots. This had happened twice before since he'd been moved to the camp, both times visits from senior military men who'd asked him repetitive questions and slapped him around, until they got bored and sent him back to the chain gang with new bruises to make wielding the pickaxe harder. 

He followed the guard out into the bitter cold, his legs stiff and uncooperative. Maybe this time, he thought, he was headed to his final destination. They would most likely kill him sooner or later, he'd known that from the minute he'd spontaneously appeared in the Russian lab, and although living this long was a surprise, and he worked damn hard to stay that way, he was pretty sure the odds of his continued survival were falling steadily by the day. 

The commandant's hut was properly insulated, with some kind of boiler providing heating, and despite the inevitable discomfort that was coming, Hopper couldn't help taking a moment's pleasure in breathing warm air for the first time in weeks. The guard nudged him to walk down the narrow corridor to the office where he'd met the generals before, and he walked as slowly as he dared, trying to thaw out his half frozen limbs.

The door to the office was open, so he had an instant view of its occupants. The commandant sat behind his large metal desk, and there was a single person seated opposite him, back to the door, so all Hopper could see was the back of a head in a heavy fur hat.   
"Our American guest." The commandant said in English, wearing the same nervous smile he'd had whenever senior personnel had visited the camp before. Then he said something further in Russian, and the stranger turned.   
"Good morning," She said in heavily accented English, "Are you well?" Her eyes bored into Hopper's and it was only the furious intensity of her gaze that stopped him from betraying his shock.  
"Yes, ma'am." He managed through dry lips. 

The women he'd known as O'Hara said something in Russian, and the commandant laughed a little too loudly and too long before replying. Then the commandant said something to the guard, who saluted smartly in O'Hara's direction before leaving the room.   
"You and I are taking a trip." O'Hara told Hopper, "My colleagues at Kremlin take interest in you."  
The commandant was nodding furiously, "Very important person." He said, and it was unclear whether he meant O'Hara, her colleagues, or Hopper himself. 

The guard returned and saluted again, before saying a few words. The commandant answered, and O'Hara chipped in too. Hopper tried not to wipe at the bead of sweat that was running down the side of his face. Whatever was happening, there was no point taking action until things were clearer - or at least until he wasn't outnumbered three to one. Or was it two on two? Looking at O'Hara, he had no idea. 

"Car is ready, we go." O'Hara told him, gesturing to the guard, who took out thick metal handcuffs and used them to fix Hopper's hands in front of him. He then looked questioningly at O'Hara and asked her something, which she responded to with a brisk shake of her head. She turned and nodded to the commandant, who saluted her smartly, and then suddenly Hopper was walking back down the corridor, the guard in front of him and O'Hara behind, and before he knew it they were out in the cold air, his breath fogging like the exhaust of the heavy looking jeep that sat, engine chugging, in front of the hut. 

The guard opened the rear door and gestured Hopper to get in, shoving him when he didn't move fast enough. Hopper's forehead glanced off the edge of the car's roof and he saw stars for a moment, as O'Hara rebuked the guard. Despite not understanding her words, the meaning was clear by the tone of her voice, and the guard took noticeably more care as he helped Hopper into the back seat.   
"Be good boy." The guard sneered, one hand on the door of the jeep, "Or she..." He gestured to O'Hara and then made the shape of a gun with his fingers and mimed shooting Hopper in the forehead. Then he slammed the door so hard it rattled, and Hopper found himself cocooned in the dark interior of the jeep, alone for a few precious seconds to try to process what was happening before O'Hara opened the driver's side door and climbed in behind the wheel. 

"Don't move. Don't speak." She ordered in the same heavy accent, and Hopper watched the guard out of the corner of his eye as the car slowly pulled away. He had no doubt that the commandant would be watching from the window of the hut, and there were sentries on the gate. Despite having no idea if O'Hara was friend or foe, he still held his breath as they drove slowly down the bumpy track towards the entrance of the camp. Whatever happened next, he wanted out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 on the way, in which we might learn what the hell is going on...
> 
> Let me know if you have any thoughts! 
> 
> DoB x


	3. Chapter 3

The guards at the camp entrance had already opened the metal gate that broke up the barbed wire fence line. The camp's defences consisted of not much more than that barbed wire and guards with guns, but even if escape was theoretically possible, it would also be pointless. They were over a hundred miles from any kind of civilisation, Hopper had been assured by both the commandant and his fellow prisoners, and the cold would kill you long before you reached freedom.

The jeep had a rudimentary heating system, in that stale, warmish air blew through it from vents in the dashboard, keeping the temperature at least a little higher than outside. Nonetheless, Hopper pushed his cold, cuffed hands between his thighs in an attempt both to warm them up and to stop them shaking as the car approached the gate. But they drove through without even slowing, the guards saluting as the car passed. 

He swallowed hard as they left the camp behind, the woman he'd met two years before as an American government agent named O'Hara skilfully manoeuvring the jeep down the rutted dirt road at a reasonable speed. He wanted to ask where they were going, what she was doing, and who the fuck she really was, but something between fear and self preservation stopped his tongue. He tried to catch her eye in the rear view mirror, but she was concentrating too hard on driving, her gaze fixed on the portion of the uneven road ahead illuminated by the headlights. 

It must have been at least an hour before the sun started to rise, and the road became smoother. Despite the uncertainty of his situation, Hopper had been lulled into a semi doze by the rocking movements and relative warmth of the vehicle, but as soon as it began to slow, he jerked into full wakefulness.  
"Relax, Chief." The voice that left O'Hara's lips was not the one she'd used in the camp, but it wasn't quite the one he remembered either. It sounded like lightly accented American. "I'm going to check the tyres, then we'll be on our way again. Fifty miles and you can have some answers, alright?"

He wanted to argue, but he didn't have the will or the strength in that moment. She climbed out of the car, and in the dim light of early dawn he could make out her form as she circled it and inspected the tyres. As far as he could see, they were stopped in the middle of nowhere. Then she opened up the back and he tensed for a second, trying to turn, but she'd closed it again before he could. 

She yanked his door open, and he flinched back on instinct.   
"Relax." She said again, "I can't risk taking the cuffs off yet, but can you manage this?" She held out a metal water canteen, and he took it awkwardly between his hands and lifted it greedily to his lips. There had never been enough water in the camp. Some of the prisoners tried to suck moisture from the snow, but it always seemed to make them sick.   
"Drink up." She said, "I've got more."  
He drained the canteen, and when she took it from him and handed him another, he drank half of that too before starting to feel slightly sick from the liquid sloshing in his empty stomach.   
"Thank you." He said, as she took it from his hands and replaced it with a large hunk of bread.   
"Don't eat too fast," She cautioned, her tone indecipherable. "When we get where we're going, there's more food, don't worry."  
Hopper only nodded, his mouth already full of the first fresh bread he'd eaten since arriving in Russia - food rations at the camp were small and any   
bread inevitably stale. 

The food and water made him feel good for about ten minutes before his stomach starting struggling and mild nausea took over, followed by sleepiness. He wondered for a moment if O'Hara had drugged him, but it felt more like the torpor that comes after a good meal, so he chose to believe she hadn't, and surrendered to the feeling instead. 

It was the car slowing once more that shook him into alertness. The road had turned bumpy again, and as it was now full daylight, he could see that they were driving up a rough track towards a small stone building.  
"Stay where you are." O'Hara told him. "I mean it, this is not the time to try anything."  
To his own surprise as much as hers, Hopper let out a wheezing chuckle, "Even if I had the energy, I'm not that stupid." It was the longest sentence he'd spoken in weeks.   
"That's what I'm counting on, Chief." She flashed him the briefest smile as they pulled up outside the building and she cut the engine. "Stay there." She said again as she exited the vehicle, and he watched through the windscreen as she approached the house, gun drawn, and went inside. 

It went against all of his instincts to stay in his seat, which he realised was probably what she'd been thinking when she'd cautioned him. The cop in him, the former soldier, hell, just some fundamental part of who he was, needed to be inside that building, backing her up. He controlled his breathing and watched the windows of the place for her shadow, but saw nothing until she emerged from the building a few minutes later, no longer holding her weapon and looking more relaxed. 

She came straight to his door and opened it, then unlocked his cuffs.   
"Come on, Chief. Got a fire in there, and a bed with your name on it."  
"What the fuck is going on?" He asked, finally voicing the words he'd been holding in since he'd walked into the camp commandant's office.  
She raised an eyebrow, "Christ, Chief, you don't know a rescue when you see one?"

As he climbed out of the car, Hopper stumbled, caught off guard by the numbness in his legs and the uneven ground.  
"Careful." O'Hara's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her side, "I'll check you over when we get inside."  
"You a doctor now?" Bowing to necessity despite the sting to his ego, he leaned some of his weight on her as they walked the short distance to the building.   
"We get training." She said.   
He wanted to ask who 'we' was, but the screaming from his muscles and the muzzy feeling in his head meant he had to focus all of his attention on walking. 

The building wasn't large enough to need internal walls. If he had to guess, he'd say it had originally been a shepherd's hut or something of the kind. Now it held a roaring fire in the hearth - O'Hara had clearly stoked it up when they arrived - and in one corner what looked like a complicated metal stove or boiler, which also had flames flickering behind the glass hatch in its belly. The rest of the space was filled with a wooden table and chairs, a faded green sofa with some stuffing escaping from one arm, and a bed set against the wall furthest from the door, covered in layers of utilitarian grey blankets.  
"We'll be here until you're ready for the next stage of the journey," O'Hara told him, "So you might as well get comfortable." 

Hopper opened his mouth to tell her that he was ready now, or at least he'd be ready once she told him what the fuck was going on, but at that moment his legs gave out completely, and the last thing he was conscious of was O'Hara's wry tone.  
"Maybe not that comfortable, Chief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking on a life of its own a bit, so part four probably arriving sooner rather than later!
> 
> (And I promise I am working on my other Hopper story too, for anyone waiting on the next chapter of that!)
> 
> DoB xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to find out what's really going on, and for Hopper to have a decent meal!

When he came around, Hopper was laying on the green sofa, his jacket and boots off, and a grey blanket covering him. The sofa wasn't quite long enough to accommodate his height, so his feet - still clad in tattered socks - were dangling over the arm. He was warm, he realised, completely warm, for the first time in months.

O'Hara was kneeling in front of the fire, stirring whatever was inside the large metal pot hanging over it, and the smell made Hopper's mouth water. She'd taken off the heavy coat and fur hat she'd been wearing, and was now in tight pants and a sweater, her feet encased in thick socks, all in black. Her hair was tied up in a knot on top of her head, and the pallor of her skin and slump of her shoulders hinted at tiredness, before she suddenly straightened. 

"You can stop watching me now." She said, without looking round, then preempted his next question, "People's breathing changes when they wake up."   
"You're a spy, right?" He asked instead, his voice emerging as a rasp.   
This time she did turn, "You need water. You're persistently dehydrated. And probably malnourished."  
"I'm fine." It was a reflexive response, and he regretted it even before she snorted.   
"Sure, Chief. Aside from being half starved, half frozen, and covered in cuts and bruises. And that's just what I can tell from quickly looking you over - no doubt you've got badly healed bone breaks and possible internal injuries too." She indicated towards a tin mug that sat on a small wooden stool next to the sofa, "So drink the fucking water." 

There was something about her attitude that needled him, just as it had the first time he'd met her, half a world away and what felt like a lifetime ago.  
"Judging by how many prisoners I saw die in the last few months, I'd say I was doing pretty fucking well by just surviving," He had to pause for breath, his lungs unused to the warm, moist air, and against his will he grabbed the mug of water and gulped from it to ease his throat before continuing, "So you can cut the superior attitude, and just tell me what the fuck is going on."  
She raised an eyebrow, "Thought I already told you. This is a rescue. Okay?"  
"No, not okay." Hopper struggled to a seated position, "Who the hell are you? Who do you work for? How did you know I was here?"  
She let out a gusty sigh. "Fine. But remember, you asked me to tell you this."

O'Hara moved to sit on the end of the bed, so that she was facing him.   
"I work for the CIA. And I didn't tell you that before because of-"  
"Dr. Brenner and Terry Ives."  
"Exactly. I needed you to at least consider trusting me, and that was going be hard enough without 'fessing up to working for your least favourite agency."  
He nodded, because he could accept that. He'd lied about being a cop before, to get information out of people. He might not like it, but he could accept it.   
"And so-" She started, but he interrupted.  
"What's your real name?"   
She looked at him for a long moment, then started again as though he hadn't spoken. "And so, I guess you can work out from the fact that I'm here that I'm a deep cover agent inside the Soviet Union." She took a deep breath, "And I'm sure you've also figured out by now that this is where I first saw the phenomenon that you call the upside down."  
He nodded, still pissed that she'd ignored his question, but nonetheless wanting to know the rest.  
"So I knew about Starcourt Mall. And I heard you died. And I was..." She paused, and for the first time he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, "I was surprisingly pissed off about that. So when I stumbled across a drunk Soviet general talking about an American who appeared out of thin air in the middle of a top secret research facility, I did a little digging, and, well, here we are."  
A cold feeling of unease was starting to blossom in Hopper's stomach, "So they sent you in to get me?"  
She made an awkward face, and bit her lip, "Yeah... this is the part you're not going to like. You're not my mission, Chief, you never were. I went off book to get you out, and as of right now, I have no idea if the CIA are going to help get you out of here, or throw us both to the wolves."

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to yell, and then suddenly realised something, and closed it again.  
"What?" She had a wariness about her that was somewhat at odds with her usual cocky attitude.   
"I'm warm." He answered slowly, "And whatever you're cooking smells good." He rubbed his hands over his face, "And the one thing I know for sure is that I was going to die in that camp, probably sooner rather than later. So I figure I could get mad at you, or I could pull my head out of my ass and recognise that at the very worst, if I'm going to die either way, with your plan I get a couple days of warmth and good food first."  
She was silent for a moment, then she grinned, "Chief, the food probably ain't gonna be that good."

Actually, the stew was delicious, or at least it was compared to the rations at the camp. Hopper ate two bowls full before his stomach started cramping, and although he knew he should be asking a lot of difficult questions of O'Hara, he felt too grateful to be warm and well fed to start an argument right now.  
"What time is it?" He asked instead.   
She glanced at her watch, "Just after midday."  
He swallowed hard before asking the next question, "What's the date?"  
He was expecting sarcasm, but instead the look on her face was something close to compassion, "January 24th 1986."  
He closed his eyes for a moment. Six months. He'd been in Russia for more than six months.  
"I'm going to do everything I can to get you home." She said quietly.  
He opened his eyes and fixed her with the sternest look he could muster. "Why?"  
She shrugged slightly. "Call it a cliche, but I really do subscribe to no man left behind."

There was a strange moment of silence, and then she clapped her hands and stood up. "There's no bathroom, but there's hot water. You need to wash, so I can get a better look at your wounds."  
"You trying to get my clothes off?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd consciously formed the thought, and O'Hara snorted with laughter.  
"I promise to keep it professional. And also, keeping it real, you stink. This place isn't big enough for both of us and your smell."  
Even though she was grinning, and he let out a bark of laughter, he also felt his cheeks heating with embarrassment. The only mirror he'd seen in the past, well, six months it would seem, was the small cracked piece that he'd used to facilitate his weekly shave with a blunt blade. And as for a shower? Given the choice between being blasted with an icy hose or staying dirty, most of the camp inmates chose the dirt. At least the freezing conditions and mandatory shaved scalps prevented lice or fleas.   
"Don't worry, Chief," O'Hara said, tipping hot water into a tin bucket before turning and winking at him, "You're still smoking hot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we all still thought he was smoking hot in the S4 trailer, right?! 
> 
> More coming soon, thank you for reading!
> 
> DoB x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopper's recovery continues...

Washing himself down with soap and water while he stood naked on a piece of tarpaulin wasn't Hopper's favourite experience, but at least O'Hara refrained from any mockery, and agreed to keep her back turned while he did it, and he couldn't deny that being clean felt good. Once he had put on the boxer shorts she'd magicked up from somewhere, though, she did insist on checking him over. To his surprise and relief, she took a matter of fact approach that reminded him of a couple of field medics he'd encountered in 'Nam.  
"I think you had some rib fractures," She said, after closely scanning his limbs without comment, her fingers suddenly pressing at the side of his chest. "Yeah, I can feel some thickening of the tissue here."  
He tried not to react to her touch, but after six months of experiencing only violence at the hands of others, the feel of her hand tracing over his skin created an almost visceral reaction.  
She flattened her palm and held it against his chest, "Tell me if I hurt you."  
"It's not hurting." He managed through gritted teeth, praying she wouldn't look downwards.

Thankfully she was too busy examining his rib cage to notice what was happening further south, but then she pressed her ear to his chest without warning, and the groan he'd been holding in finally escaped.  
"Chief?" She pulled back and looked up at him, "Ohhh... S'been a while, huh? Since anyone..." She held his gaze as she ran her hand gently across his chest, her touch warming his skin far more effectively than the fire, "I get it. Believe me, I get it. Not being touched, it's..."

Afterwards, Hopper was never sure if it was an attempt to even things up, or an automatic reaction to her words, but he reached up and cupped her face in his palm. She pressed into his touch, something like a whimper leaving her mouth, and then her pale face flushed as she pulled away.  
"I-" She visibly swallowed, "Look, I haven't slept in two days, and I'm exhausted. You should take a nap too. We can finish this up later."  
He followed her gaze as she looked towards the bed, steeling himself to offer to take the sofa, even though the thought of sleeping on an actual mattress made him want to to weep.  
"It's easily big enough," She said briskly, crossing the room and shedding her sweater as she did so. Underneath she was wearing a tight fitting tank top, and he had a flashback to their night in the bunk room at the Hawkins police station, which became even more vivid when she stripped off her pants and threw back the blankets, climbing into the bed in just her panties and tank top.

He swallowed hard, which made him suddenly aware of something else he'd missed.  
"You have a spare toothbrush by any chance?"  
"Yes, actually." She gestured towards the black bag that held her medical supplies. "In the front pocket, there's a couple, and toothpaste."  
Brushing his teeth had never felt so good, even if it drew attention to the gaps where one tooth had been yanked out during interrogation, and another had succumbed to decay and been none too gently extracted by the so-called doctor at the camp. He rinsed throughly, then drank down another mug of water.

He turned and looked at O'Hara, who was propped on one elbow, looking right back at him.  
"C'mon, Chief. I promise not to have nightmares, try to seduce you, or hog the covers. But any snoring is not under my control." Despite the seeming return to her cocky irreverence, there was something in her posture that betrayed an element of nervousness.  
He walked slowly over to the bed, his limbs still feeling a little stiff, and climbed in on the other side to her. The mattress was even softer than he could have hoped for, and he let out a groan as it took his weight. He rolled onto his side, facing towards her, but she'd turned the other way. There were mere inches between them, and he couldn't hold back from very carefully laying a hand on her waist, his palm spanning over the fabric of her tank top, and the small strip of bare skin between that and her panties. He waited for her to throw him off, but instead she moved backwards, closing the gap between them, and before he knew it her back was pressed to his bare chest, her thighs resting on his, and her hand grabbed his, bringing it to rest on her stomach. He threaded his other arm under her neck, and felt her relax into him.  
The warm contact with another human body was almost overwhelming, but it didn't stop his eyelids from starting to close - if anything, he felt even sleepier.  
"Stop thinking, sleep." Her voice was slurred with tiredness, and he surrendered almost immediately.

When Hopper woke, it was dark outside, the embers of the fire the only light in the room. They were laying in the same position they'd fallen asleep in, the only difference being that his dick was hard and nestled in the cleft of O'Hara's ass, which despite two layers of underwear separating them, felt fucking fantastic and fucking dangerous at the same time. 

She had been right, you could hear someone's breathing change when they woke up. He felt the shift as O'Hara moved from sleep to awareness, and prepared himself for the moment she would inevitably pull away, possibly in anger or disgust, though somehow he couldn't really picture her wearing either of those emotions. Instead, she pushed back just a little, and he couldn't help sucking in a breath at the friction of her ass against his dick. She let out the faintest moan, and he felt her fingers tighten in between his, where she was still holding his hand to her stomach.  
"O'Ha-" He started.  
"Ssh." She murmured, gently undulating her hips.  
It was probably a terrible idea, but Hopper decided to class this alongside warmth and good food on his list of things to make the most of before impending death, and go with it.

He moved their entwined hands until he was cupping her breast, and sucked a gentle kiss into the side of her neck. She arched slightly, pushing her ass even harder into his throbbing dick, and he couldn't help a groan in response. After more than six months of no sexual contact - hell, he hadn't even had a date with his hand since being in Russia - he was already close to blowing it. O'Hara guided their joined hands downwards, and as their fingers grazed the front of her panties, she took her hand from his and moved it to his forearm, squeezing lightly as she bucked her hips into his touch. 

He took the hint and pushed his fingers under the edge of her panties, groaning again as he discovered the slick heat of her core.  
"God..." She was gasping as he rubbed his fingers over her clit, her hips mimicking the circular motion, and Hopper's own breathing sped up as her movements drove him even closer to the point of no return. He realised there was no way in hell he was going to be able to hold off, but to his relief it was only moments before O'Hara arched and trembled against his fingers, a guttural moan leaving her lips, and he let go and shuddered with his release. 

"Haven't done that since I was a teenager." He murmured, as he tried to bring his breathing back under control.  
She laughed a little breathlessly, "Nor have I."  
He rolled onto his back, feeling the stickiness of his boxer shorts against his skin, "Should probably clean up."  
"Mm hmm. Or sleep more." She turned over, and he was able to look up and see her face in the dim light. She met his eyes for only a moment before dropping her head onto his shoulder, draping an arm and leg over his body, just as she had in the Hawkins PD bunk room all that time ago.  
He nodded, eyes already drifting closed, "Mm, sleep, yeah."  
"Cat." She said suddenly, her lips against his skin, muffling the words slightly, "My name is Cat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter coming soon!
> 
> DoB x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before...

When Hopper had returned home after Vietnam, he'd gone to bed and slept for a day straight. Years later, when insomnia had become his bedfellow, he would sometimes look back at that day and wonder how it had been possible. After all, he was regularly working long shifts and going without sleep for a day or more, but when he finally laid his head down, it was rare he managed more than three or four hours at a stretch. 

So waking up to find it was once again growing light outside was a shock, but a strangely pleasant one. He was alone in the bed, which gave him a moment of concern, but then he rolled over and saw O'Hara - Cat - once again crouched in front of the fire, stirring something in the pot. She was still wearing only her panties and tank top, and he couldn't help admiring her long legs as she stood and turned towards him.   
"Morning, Chief."   
"Morning. What time is it?"   
"Little after nine." She yawned, "Haven't slept that long in a while."  
Despite her outward ease, Hopper could sense what had happened the night before hanging in the air between them.  
"Last night-" He started.  
He saw her mouth quirk momentarily into a smile, "We don't need to have the talk, Chief. We're two consenting adults, right?"  
"Sure, but this situation-"  
"Chief," She spoke firmly as she came back to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, "This situation is fucked up, it's stressful, you can analyse the shit out of it... Or you can enjoy the rare good moments."  
"That your spy training?" He asked, trying not to smile.  
"Funny." She made to get up again, but he laid a hand on her arm.  
"Cat..." She startled a little, her eyes wide, and he immediately pulled his hand back, "You forget you told me?"   
"No! I just..." She paused and looked down at her lap for moment, "It's been so long since I heard that name from someone else's lips, that's all."  
"Why 'O'Hara'?" He asked.  
She gave a little huff of laughter, "I was given about ten seconds to come up with an alias for US soil, and there was a copy of Gone With the Wind on the secretary's desk."   
"Seriously?" Hopper wasn't sure if he was allowed to laugh or not, but he could feel it bubbling in his chest anyway.  
She nodded, her own lips pressed tight together before she added, her voice sounding a little strained, "Did you not notice the first name on that ID was Scarlett?"  
The laughter started to escape, "Bullshit, I was tired that night, I wasn't that tired."   
"You sure?" She was half laughing now too.  
"Yeah." He forced his face straight, "It was Rhett."

It might not have been the worst joke Hopper had ever delivered, but it was close. Nonetheless, Cat let out a huge burst of laughter, and he let his own escape too. He laughed until he was gasping for air, until it hurt, and every time he met her eyes it set them off into more spasms of helpless mirth. Somewhere deep down, he knew it was about releasing tension, but in the moment he didn't care. He hadn't laughed in months, and even though it became painful, his chest aching, it still felt really fucking good.

Eventually, their laughter died down to small splutters, and Hopper felt his breathing evening out. He risked looking at Cat again, and although he couldn't contain a smirk - and nor could she - it didn't incite another gale of laughter. She took a deep breath and placed her palm against his chest.  
"God, that was ridiculous." There were drying tears on her cheeks from laughing so hard.   
"Mm hmm." He put his hand over hers, idly interweaving their fingers. There were a few moments of silence, almost comfortable, before he felt her withdraw.   
"I should check on breakfast. Otherwise known as more stew."  
"Any chance of some clothes?" He asked. "I have to use the bathroom, unless you want me to do that in here."  
"Actually, there is a bucket, but if you're up to using the hut outside, I can promise food when you come back in."  
"Can't be worse than the camp," He shrugged, "At the least the ice kills the smell."

Cat had thick winter pants, an undershirt and sweater for him, as well as socks and boots.   
"How'd you know my size?" He asked, as he laced up the heavy black leather boots.   
"It's in your military records." She replied calmly.   
"How-" He started, then decided against it. She was CIA, that told him enough. He looked up and caught her smirking slightly.   
"Now you're getting it." She nodded towards the door, "Round the side to the left. You want a newspaper or anything?"   
"Funny." He stood and stretched, amazed how much better he felt from just one day of being clean, fed and rested. 

The tiny wooden outhouse toilet wasn't much more than a deep hole in the ground with a box over it, but it was still better than the camp, and taking a shit in private was something he'd held an appreciation for since Vietnam. Before returning to the main building, he walked a slow and careful circle around it, taking in its setting at the edge of a forest which curved around the building, and the gentle downward slope from the front that gave it clear sight lines. The rutted track was dusted with snow, but it wasn't as cold here as at the camp, so he figured they'd moved further south. 

When he went back inside, Cat handed him a bowl of stew.   
"Eat. Then we need to talk about what happens next."   
He sat down obediently at the table, shovelling the food into his mouth out of habit before he remembered he didn't need to do that anymore. He glanced quickly at Cat to see if she'd noticed, but her attention was focussed on a map she'd pulled out of one of her bags.   
"That show where we are?" He asked.  
"Mm hmm. But it's more about where we might go next."  
"Doesn't that depend on the CIA?"  
"Partially." She looked up at him, "I should hear from my local contact today. That will at least give us an indication of whether anyone has realised you were taken by an imposter or not. It's unlikely, but if they have, then we'll have to move faster."  
Hopper found his appetite had suddenly disappeared, "How did you get me out of there?" He hadn't been consciously avoiding the question, but he hadn't been in a hurry to ask before now either.  
"I bear a passing resemblance to a woman with a very scary reputation, who the guards of a remote prison camp will never have met but certainly have heard of. When she rocks up at your gate and tells you she's taking your American prisoner, you hand him over, no questions asked."  
"But won't the story get back to her? If she's as well known as you say?"  
Cat's gaze was steady as she replied, "She's dead. So no."  
"But if she's dead, then won't it be even more suspicious when the story gets out that..." He trailed off under Cat's unwavering stare. "They don't know she's dead, do they?"  
She shook her head slightly, her eyes still fixed on his.  
"Because you killed her, didn't you?"  
A nod this time, sharp and decisive.  
"And no one will ever find the body."  
"No they won't." She agreed. "You okay with this?" Although her voice and gaze were steady, there was something in her face, something...  
He shrugged, "You think I have a problem with killing people? Innocent people, sure. Kids, definitely. One spy killing another? You tell me it was justified, I'll believe you."  
"It was justified." A muscle was twitching in her jaw, "Believe me."  
"Okay then." He took a breath, "What's the plan?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want these guys to escape in one piece, right? We want Hopper to make it home to El? Of course we do! But will that happen? Stayed tuned to find out...
> 
> Thank you for reading! DoB x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains escape plans, Soviet geography, and some pretty serious smut. You have been warned!

"Okay, so the way I see it, there are three ways this could go." Cat fixed Hopper with her stare again, and he realised that he was seeing the steel behind her cocky facade, the core of who she was that allowed her to do the job she did and survive. But he swore that he'd seen something else too, something beyond that, their night at the Hawkins police station, and maybe for a few seconds here and there since she'd rescued him. Something vulnerable, something human, that-  
"Chief!" She snapped her fingers in his face, "I need you to focus right now, not daydream about donuts or whatever."   
"Donuts?"  
"You're a cop, right?" She smirked, then her face grew serious again. "Three options," She repeated. "Number one, which is the most unlikely, is that somehow they know you were broken out of the camp rather than transferred, in which case we'll have to run, and run quickly, because they'll already be looking for us. Given we're in the middle of fucking nowhere, our odds of survival in that scenario aren't great, I'll be honest."  
"Fantastic. Start with the worst option." His jaw tightened, "Next?"

"Okay." Cat rolled her shoulders, "Number two, best case scenario, the Agency decide it's in their interest to help get us out. If that happens, they'll give us a rendezvous point, and it'll be up to us to get there on time, but once we do we'll have help getting out of here."  
"Where are we right now?" He asked, half expecting her to shrug him off, but instead she pushed their bowls out of the way and laid the map on the table.  
"Here," She pointed to a blue biro dot in the easternmost part of the USSR, "Siberia." She pointed to another dot, "There's your camp. We managed to put about eighty miles between them and us, which means they'd have a lot of ground to search, but there's not all that much out here, so..." She shrugged, "On the plus side, we're closer to the railroad than we were."  
"How far?" He asked, bending over the map, then he saw the scale. "Close?!"  
"I didn't say close, I said closer. We can get to a railroad station in about a week's travel, which would give me time to teach you enough Russian to pass for a lowly civil servant - which is what we'd have to be to be travelling by rail out here without being in shackles."   
"What about an evac by sea?" He prodded at the blue expanse on the map that lay to the east of their location, "If they could get a boat in, we could-"  
"The sea freezes." Cat told him, "October to March. I guess there is a scenario where we wait out here until it thaws, but even when it does, getting a boat through would be unpredictable at best, a suicide mission for the crew at worst." 

Hopper sat back and tried to marshal his thoughts, "Alright, what's option three?"  
"Basically option two without the Agency's help. Except instead of using the trains to get to a meeting point, we use them to get as close to a non-hostile nation's border as we can, and then once we cross we get to an embassy and hope they don't throw us to the wolves."  
"Can I ask you something?"   
"Sure." But Cat looked wary.  
"Did you think this through before you came in and got me?"  
"Yes! Well, I mean, to a point." The corner of her mouth curved just slightly, "I'm good at improvising."  
"Mm hmm." He nodded slowly, "What do you think the chances of the CIA helping us are?"  
She sighed, "I honestly don't know. It's not like you're an asset - you don't know anything classified or valuable - and although I'm useful, I've always known I was expendable. On the other hand, you're an American citizen, law enforcement, and you did an excellent job of foiling a major Soviet operation at the Starcourt mall-"  
He swallowed, hard, "About that-"  
"Yeah?" She looked up at him.

"Was I-" The words stuck in Hopper's throat. For the last six months, his means of maintaining sanity had been to choose to believe that his sacrifice had been worth it, and that everyone else had lived. That El had lived. But now he was sitting with someone who could tell him if that was true, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.   
"You were the only casualty." She said softly, "Everyone else made it out. As far as I understand it, there was a lot of confusion, and maybe some Russians didn't survive, who knows, but American lives? All accounted for."  
He was suddenly panting like he'd just run a race, "My kid?"  
"Far as I know, she's fine."

The emotions that surged through Hopper's body were so overpowering, he couldn't separate them from each other. There was relief, and joy, and overwhelming sadness, and a pure clear thread of hope...  
"Chief?" Cat was suddenly standing next to him - he hadn't realised that he'd gotten to his feet until then, "Jim?"   
He looked down at her, and suddenly everything he was feeling crystallised into a singular urge, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely.

Cat responded without hesitation, leaping up as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his hips as he carried her the short distance to the bed, still kissing her. She was still wearing only her tank top and panties - though her feet were encased in thick socks - and she grabbed impatiently at his clothes as he tumbled her onto the bed, landing on top of her. Hopper's head was buzzing, his body taking over, as he helped her pull his undershirt and sweater off, then started on hers. He'd never actually seen Cat naked, and he was suddenly desperate to change that. 

He tugged at the bottom of her tank top, and in a fluid motion she rolled them, kneeling up over him as she pulled the tank off over her head, then shed her bra.   
"Fuck..." He breathed, reaching up to cup her breasts, his big hands barely containing them.  
She threw her head back and mewled as he pinched her nipples, "Please-"  
It was the first time he'd ever heard her say that word, her was sure of it, and he flipped them over again so he was above her, his hand pushing into her panties and finding slick heat. "Jesus, Cat..." He panted.  
"Fuck me, oh god, just fuck me!" Her hips bucked into his hand, and then she was pushing her own panties down, while he was fumbling with his zipper and wishing he'd taken his boots off when he'd come in from outside, but then his dick brushed against her core and every thought left his head as he sank deep inside Cat, watching her eyes roll back as her inner muscles gripped him and he almost came right then.

Cat was the last woman he'd slept with, and that was over a year ago. He couldn't have taken it slow if he'd wanted to, and thankfully she seemed to feel the exact same way, meeting every thrust, her hips tilted so he could drive as deep as possible - and it still didn't feel deep enough. He knelt up, looking at her spread out below him, her hand reaching between her legs as he kept up a punishing pace, hips flying as he grunted and panted his way towards an end that came all too suddenly, with Cat clenching around him, her upper body lifting from the bed as she cried out, and then everything was white noise and something close to bliss for a few precious seconds, while he buried himself as far inside her as he could and filled her with his release. 

Wrung out and breathing hard, Hopper collapsed beside Cat, his head swimming. He could hear the quick pants of her breath, and feel the heat radiating from her body. Then she let out a little huff that was something like a laugh.  
"Now that's what I call fucking in the face of death!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who read my Last Ship fanfic on fanfiction.net will be all too familiar with 'fucking in the face of death'. If you haven't heard of it before, trust me, it's a thing. Maybe don't Google it though...
> 
> Thanks for reading, DoB x


	8. Chapter 8

Hopper turned his head to look at Cat, who was still chuckling to herself slightly. "That's what you call what?"  
"Fucking in the face of death. You know, you survive something against the odds, and it makes you want to fuck. Celebrate life. Whatever."  
"That's a thing?"  
"It's a thing." She rolled over onto her side facing him, and laid a hand on his chest, "You never felt that before?"  
He thought about 'Nam, "Yeah, just didn't know it had a name."  
"I was gonna say, after all the things that have happened to you, kind of impossible not to have felt that particular urge before."  
"All the things that have happened to me?"  
She made a face, "Read your file, remember? Before I came to Hawkins. And then all this, obviously."

Hopper's mellow mood was deteriorating rapidly, "Great. So you know every fucking thing about me, and I know jack shit about you. Except that I'm supposed to trust you."  
Cat visibly flinched, withdrawing her hand from his chest, and he immediately felt guilty.  
"Sorry." He muttered.  
She shook her head slightly, and there was an excruciatingly awkward silence. She rolled onto her back, putting an inch or so between them, and he felt the loss more keenly than he would have expected. He braced himself for her getting up and leaving the bed, and cursed himself for snapping at her right after they'd, well, fucked in the face of death, but she didn't move.

"My father was Russian." Her voice was quiet, "He was a scientist who defected to the US, after he spent time in a prison camp right here in Siberia for refusing to do horrific things in the name of research. My mom was his grad student in Boston-" She smiled briefly, "-not as sleazy as it sounds. They were crazy in love, it used to embarass me. My dad died younger than he should've, because his body was broken by four years in Siberia and he never completely recovered. I was twelve. I never wanted to do anything other than serve, because according to my Dad, he owed America everything, and after he died I decided that debt was mine to repay." She was staring at the low beamed ceiling as she spoke, her expression indecipherable, "The CIA recruited me out of the military because I spoke Russian. And because I was passionate about bringing down the country that betrayed my dad. I guess the Agency loves a girl with daddy issues and a clever tongue." 

"So you're not a fan of Siberian prison camps, then." He felt the need to say something, at least, to acknowledge what she'd just given him.  
"It took all of my self control not to kill every guard in that place and then raze it to the ground before I drove you out of there." She replied, and the controlled fury in her voice convinced him she was telling the truth about her background.  
"If your dad survived four years, he's a fucking hero." He told her.  
"Thank you." She said quietly, "He was." She pushed herself upright then, and stretched. "That's quite enough of the touchy feely shit. I need to get the radio set up and see if we've got anything coming in." She stood, and Hopper raised himself up to look at her, naked except for her socks. He felt a strange mixture of admiration, lust, and gratitude.  
She smirked down at him, "Pull your pants up, Chief, you look ridiculous."

While Cat set up the radio, Hopper redressed and made an attempt at brewing coffee. There was something she'd said, before they'd had sex, that was niggling in the back of his mind.  
_You don't know anything classified or valuable..._  
He supposed that was true, he'd just stumbled on a situation and tried to do the right thing. Except, he realised as the memory finally came to him, there might be something else, something from right here in Russia.

"Cat?"  
"Mm?" She had gotten dressed too, slightly to his disappointment, and was now sat at the table, holding a pair of headphones to one ear while manipulating dials on a boxy black transmitter.  
"If I heard something, in the camp, or saw something, could that be useful?"  
"Depends what it is." She set down the headphones and looked up at him, "What are you thinking?"  
He scrubbed a hand over his face, "There was a guy. I only saw him once, but I heard a few things. They called me 'The American', and he was 'Englishman'."  
Cat was wearing that expression of intense focus again, as she pushed a piece of paper and a pen toward him, "Englishman? Was he speaking English?"  
"I never heard it directly, but there was an accent for sure. And people said he did. But it could just be gossip." Hopper acknowledged.  
"Write down absolutely everything you can remember about him. Start with what you saw or heard directly, then the rumours and hearsay. Everything."  
"But what-"  
"It fits." She said cryptically, then, "I'll need to make a call." She shoved back her chair and went to the small pile of boxes and bags in the corner. Moving her medical kitbag aside, she hefted out a rectangular metal box.  
"A call?" He asked in confusion.  
"Yeah." She was lacing her boots now. "Not sure what kind of coverage we'll get this far north, but-"  
"Cat, what the hell are you talking about?"  
She paused long enough to meet his gaze for a moment, "Satellite phone. The radio is for local contact, this is for calling our glorious homeland." She gave just the faintest smirk, "Why aren't you writing?"

It only took Hopper a few minutes to write down the information about the Englishman - a brief physical description, what little he'd heard of the man speaking, and then the rumours, such as they were. Cat almost snatched the paper out of his hand, and grabbed the handle of the metal box, lifting it with a small grunt of effort.  
"Let me." He tried, and she gave him a furious stare.  
"I can do it."  
"And I can help."  
There was a moment of tense stand-off before she relented and let him carry it. They walked a short distance from the house before she gestured for him to set the case down, and then she began to efficiently assemble the contents.  
"Don't say a word." She told him, "I don't need them to know you're with me."  
"I thought you told them about me?"  
"Yeah, I told them I broke you out and had you in my custody. Not that we're working together."  
"Custody?" He felt another flare of anger.  
"Ssh!" Cat said sharply, as the phone started humming with a high pitched sound. 

She held the handset tight to her ear, and after a few moments she recited a string of letters and numbers, then after a pause, another. There was another, longer, pause, and Hopper realised he was holding his breath. The cold was biting, but he was too full of adrenaline to notice.  
"Good morning," Cat said suddenly, "I have a weather report. Are you receiving my coordinates?"  
He tried to let out the breath quietly, but since Cat glanced up at him, he must have failed.  
"Confirmed." She said then, "I have relevant information to the matter in hand." Another pause, before she started to read from Hopper's notes, but not in the words he had recorded. "A friend of mine may have encountered one of our friends from London. Looks just like Uncle Harry. He's enjoying the winter season." One more short pause, before she said, "Confimed, received and understood." She took the handset away from her ear and let out a long breath of her own. Then she looked up at Hopper and grinned.  
"I think you just bought us a ticket home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and stay tuned to see the dynamic duo attempt to escape Russia!
> 
> DoB x


End file.
